


Resident Evil HarperWong Supernatural AU

by HarperWongShipper



Series: Resident Evil HarperWong Supernatural AU series [1]
Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Resident Evil (Movieverse)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-04-10
Packaged: 2019-10-27 03:59:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,881
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17759357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarperWongShipper/pseuds/HarperWongShipper
Summary: Twenty-two years ago, Helena and Deborah Harper lost their father to a mysterious and demonic supernatural force. In the years after, their mother, Marian, taught them about the paranormal evil that lives in the dark corners and on the back roads of America...and she taught them how to kill it.





	1. The Hunt Beings

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the characters but I do own the OCs
> 
> Also this a HarperWong pairing! No Aeon or Heleon, no just no.

**Bowles Motel and Lodge**   
**South Bend, Indiana**   
**Monday 15 November 2005**

 

“That’s the problem with these jobs, Helena, sometimes you hit a dead end.”

Helena Harper silently agreed with her younger sister, Deborah as they did their final check of the motel room before hauling their stuff out of the car. Their mother had drilled into them from a young age always to scour a room before checking out, as it wouldn’t do to leave personal stuff lying around.

Especially when some of that stuff included exotic weaponry and ancient grimoires. Generally, they were good about cleaning out the room. There was that one time in Key West when Helena had left the tin of salt next to the bed, and she’d insisted on turning the car around on Route 1 and heading back to retrieve it. Deborah had asked why they couldn’t just go to a supermarket and get another one—it was a pretty common household item, after all—but Helena had insisted that it was a principle of the thing.

Which had been fine right up until the clerk asked why the two sisters had a big tin of salt in their hotel room, and Helena had just raised any eyebrow. With Deborah watching and not even bothering to hide her grin, Helena just said with a deep husky ‘don’t fuck with me’ tone it was none of his fucking business.

“Sis,” Deborah had said as they went back out to the car, a retrieved salt in hand, “Wasn’t that a little harsh, he basically almost shat himself! You saw that right?’’

“Yes, now let it go,” Helena had replied with a scowl on her face.

Today, they were checking out and hitting the road, their latest job not having been a job at all.

Deborah was still talking as they headed out to the car. “But at least we got to see beautiful downtown South Bend.”

“Yeah, real hot spot,” Helena muttered as Deborah opened the trunk.

“Hey, we go where the jobs take us.”

“Or don’t. It really was a suicide, Debora. A normal, run-of-the-mill suicide.”

Deborah shrugged. “It happens.’’ She tossed her bag into the rear of the trunk, rolling it over the boxes of weapons and supplies. Helena did likewise, using her left hand, as her right was still in a arm brace from when that zombie boy broke it back in Lawrence.

Helena has a strong attachment to the black 1967 Chevrolet Impala, the family car their father passed down to their mother and to Helena when she turn sixteen. But Deborah didn’t have that attachment since she was just a baby when their dad died. (Then again, Deborah sometimes thought she didn’t have the same attached to her abusive ex-boyfriend then Helena had to the Impala.)

However, even Deborah had to admit that the massive trunk was a great benefit, given that they lived their entire life out of this car. The rear of the voluminous trunk was taken up with three bags: Deborah’s bag, Helena’s bag, and the laundry bag. The last one was starting to bulge.

“We’re gonna need to do a laundry run soon, Debs,” Helena said.

“Not here,” Deborah said quickly. “I don’t think that cop was too thrilled with ace reporters Melody and Melissa, We’d better split before she decides to run my face through her computer.”

Helena nodded in agreement. Deborah was still wanted for series of murders committed by a shapeshifter taking her form in St. Louis earlier that year, and there was just no way “a mutated freak who looked just like me did it” was going to fly with the U.S. Attorney’s office.

Helena closed the trunk and they headed to they main office. Like most of the places the Harpers stayed, the Bowles Motel and Lodge was dirt-cheap with minimal amenities. All they needed was a roof, a bed, and a working shower—though the latter was a hit and miss with some of the places they stayed—and they weren’t exactly rolling in dough.

Fighting demons and monsters and thing that go bump-in-the-night was important, but it didn’t pay. They lived off credit card fraud and Helena’s pool and poker winnings. That meant the Hyatt was not an option.

They entered the shabby office, which had cracked wood paneling, a badly stained beige carpet, and a pockmarked front desk. An older woman sat behind that desk, puffing away on a cigarette while sitting under a red no smoking sign and reading a Dan Brown book. Her face was caked with enough makeup to allow her to attend a Halloween party as the Joker, and her hair was sprayed within an inch of its life into something that probably wanted to be a beehive.

Deborah was fairly sure she could have hit that hairdo with any weapon in the Impala’s trunk and not done a lick of damage to it, she wore a name badge that said Monica.

“Hey,” Deborah said, “We’re checking out.”

Monica took a final puff on the cigarette, then stubbed it out in the ashtray. “You’re Cherrywood, right?” She asked with a scratchy voice.

Helena managed not to roll her eyes. Just once, Helena wished Deborah would pick an inconspicuous alias.

“That’s right,” Deborah said with a smile. “We’re ready to check out.”

“Yeah, there’s a problem. Your credit card was declined. I’m gonna need another one.”

There was Deborah’s wide-eyed look again, but this time Helena didn’t smile. “Declined. Really.”

Deborah looked at Helena helplessly, then turned back to Monica. “Could you try it again, please?’

She gave Deborah a withering look. “I tried it three times. That’s all they’ll allow.”

“Did they say why?”

“No, no reason. You wanna call the credit card company? You can use this phone.” She picked up the desk phone—which, Helena was appalled to see, was a rotary dial—and held it up for Deborah to take.

“Uh, no, that, uh—that won't really help.”

Helena realized why Deborah was stalling. She had other credit cards, but none of the said Deborah Cherrywood on them.

Quickly Helena stepped forward, reaching into her back pocket, and said, “I’ll get it.” She removed one of her own fake credit cards from her wallet and handed it to Monica.

She took it and started at it, which Helena had been hoping she wouldn’t do, since this one didn’t say Cherrywood either. “Thought you two were sisters?”

Without missing a beat, Helena said, “We are, but I was adopted. By the time I tracked down my birth parents, they had both died, so I changed my name to Matthews in tribute to them.”

Monica’s face split into a rictus that Helena supposed could’ve been called a smile. “That’s so sweet of you. What a nice girl you are.” She ran the card through the machine, then entered the total for the three nights they stayed.

The wait for the machine to check was interminable. Deborah, to her credit, had recovered, and she had her best poker face on.

Finally, after several eternities, the machine beeped and the word approved on the small screen.

“All right,” Monica said, still smiling, as the whirr of a printer could be heard under the desk. “Here’s your card back, Ms. Matthews.”

“Thank you,” Helena said, retrieving it and putting it back in her wallet.

“Such good manners. Mr. and Mrs. Cherrywood obviously raised you both right.”

Deborah smiled. “Yes, ma’am, they did a bang-up job.”

Monica then handed the printout, as well as the credit card machine receipt, Helena. “Just sign here, and you can be on your way.”

Once that was all done, they went back outside. “Nice save there, Lena,” Deborah said with a grin. “Y’know, I’m finally starting to get it.”

Helena frowned. This sounded suspiciously like the beginning of a lengthy diatribe, the end of which would be a joke at Helena’s expense. “Get what?”

“Well, Sis, We grew up together, and that whole time, nothing about you ever screamed ‘CIA’ at me. So when you CIA Academy, it kinda threw me. But I’ve been watching you last year, and I think I figured it out.”

Here it comes. Helena tried not to groan.

“You can shovel manure as good as anyone I’ve ever met. That line you pulled on Monica there with them adoption? Beautiful. And with a straight face.”

In fact, Helena’s skills at lying—both in terms of pretending to be someone else and also misleading people as to the true nature of her life and of the world itself—had been on of the things that attracted her to the law. Her life as the child of a hunter of supernatural creatures, and of being trained to be a hunter herself, had given her these skills anyhow, it only seemed natural to put them to good use.

That wasn’t what she told her sister, though. “Yeah, I can pull the wool over people’s eyes. And I do most of the research and know most of the lore. And I’m good with weapons and the hand-to-hand combat.” They arrived at the Impala, and Helena gave her sister a grin as she stepped up to the drivers door. “So, uh, what do I need you for, exactly?”

Before Deborah could construct a reply, her phone started playing PINK's “So What.”

“For that matter,” Helena added, “I’m the one who showed you how to download ringtones.”

Pulling the cell phone out of her pocket, Deborah scowled. “I would’ve figured it out eventually.” She flipped it open and glanced at the number, which caused her eyes to go even wider than they had in the office. Putting the phone to her ear, she said, “Annette?”

That surprised Helena. Annette Birkin ran a road house that catered to hunters. She and Deborah had recently learned that Annette’s late husband died when he was on a hunt with their mother, and it put a bit if a strain in their relationship—especially since they only found out because Annette’s daughter Sherry snuck out and went on a hunt with her and Deborah against Annette’s very strenuous objections.

Years of listening to loud music and using firearms had played merry hell with Deborah’s hearing, so she kept her cell’s volume up way too loud. That meant Helena could hear Annette’s tinny voice over the phones speaker.

“Listen,” She said, “I may have a job for you girls.”

“Really? ’Cause—”

“It’s for Albert. He wouldn’t ask himself, but I figured he did you two a favor, so you might be willing to do him one back.” Annette seemed to be barreling through the conversation, not letting Deborah get a word in.

Or, at least trying not to. Keeping Deborah quiet was usually a forlorn hope. “Sure, I guess.” She smirked. “Always had a soft spot for Wesker. What’s he need?”

Annette gave the particular of the case to Deborah, and did it in a lower voice, so Helena couldn’t make it all out. Albert was a former FBI/CIA agent who nonetheless was a genius and able to track demons via computer, a trick Helena had never mastered despite many attempts. As Deborah had once said, Albert’s geek-fu was strong. Unlike Deborah, Helena did entirely believe his claim to of gone to MIT—for starters, he said it was a college in Massachusetts, and anyone who’d gone there would know it was in Cambridge—but they did believe that Albert had the know-how, based on the times he’d helped them out.

“Okay. We’ll check it out.” With that, Deborah flipped the phone shut and looked out the driveway. “That road’ll take us to 80, right?”

Helena tried to remember the map. “I think so, yeah. Why, where’s the job?”

Deborah ginned. “That town so nice, they named it twice: New York, New York.”

“Really?” Helena turned and went back to the trunk. “Open it up, I wanna show you something.”

“Something in New York?” Deborah said, joining her at the back, since she stole the keys from her.

After Deborah hand the keys, Helena opened the trunk. Helena took a folder out of her bag. “It may not be anything, but I notice a couple of murders that took place there.”

“Helena—it’s New York. They get, like, fifty murders a day.”

“Which is why these two probably flew under the radar.” She took the clippings, Photocopied off the newspaper she’d looked in several different public libraries they’d visited recently. “First, we got a guy bricked in a building’s basement.” Helena handed Deborah an 81/2 by 11 sheet of paper with a filler news story in a section of the New York Daily New dedicated to a community news about a man named Mark Reyes, who was found bricked up in the basement of a house in the Bronx.

As Deborah glanced over three photocopy, Helena went on: “And this past Sunday, two college kids were beaten to death by an orangutan.”

Deborah looked up at that. “Seriously?”

Helena nodded. “That’s two murders that are right out of Edgar Allan Poe short stories.”

“That’s kind of a stretch,” Deborah said as she handed back the story about the bricked-up man.

“Maybe—but they both took place in the Bronx, and Poe used to live in the Bronx. Plus, the first Maurer was on the fifth—they didn’t find the body until two days later but it happened on the fifth, which was—“

“The last full moon,” Deborah said with a nod. “Yeah, okay, maybe, but—“

Tossing the folder back in the trunk, Helena said, “And the orangutan was the last quarter.” She didn’t need to add that lots of rituals were based on the phases of the moon. “It’s not that big of a deal, but since we’re going to New York anyhow, I figured we could look into it while—uh, do whatever it is we’re doing.”

Deborah slammed the trunk shut. “Hunting. Some friend of Albert’s is having ghost issues. So who’s he gonna call?”

Helena chuckled. They both got into the car, Helena in the driver’s seat. “That’s really weird.”

“What, that there’s be a hunting? We see them all the time.”

“No,” Helena said with a shake of her head, “That Albert would have a friend.”

With a chuckle of her own, Helena slid the key into the ignition. A grin spread on her face as the Impala hummed to life. “Hear that engine purr.”

Squirming in the passenger seat, Deborah thought, I swear to God, if she starts petting the dashboard again, I’m walking to New York.

However, she was spared that. Helena shoved a fireflight disk into the player, twirled the volume up, and the was filled with the guitar opening to “Stand Up.”

Helena turned to her. “Atomic batteries to power.”

Growling at her older sister, Deborah said, “I’m only gonna say, ‘Turbines to speed’ if you don’t make a comment about me in short green pants.”

Helena pull the gear shift down to R and said, “Let’s move out.” She backed out of the parking spot, then brought it down to D and sent them out to the open road.


	2. New York City

_**Disclaimer: I do not own the RE characters or the Supernatural cast, cause if i did Leon would be dead! I would make Ada x Helena and Jill x Claire a canon pairing!** _

_**BTW Leon Kennedy Fans if you happen to read this and complain about it, I'm just going to tell you to fuck off and ignore you! Keep your straight ass comments and complains to yourself! Also some band names from the seventies are made up** _

* * *

_**On the road** _

_**Interstate 80, approaching the** _

_**George Washington Bridge** _

_**Tuesday 16 November 2005** _

"How can there be so many people on one road?"

Helena tried not to laugh out loud at Deborah's plaintive cry, the fifth time she'd asked the question in the last ten minutes—a time span during which the Impala had moved forward maybe fifty feet.

There'd been driving all night. Helena had suggested they stop at a motel overnight, but Deborah wanted to get there quickly. They had stopped in a motel in Clarion, Pennsylvania, to shower and change clothes, paying for it with one of the fraudulent cards, but didn't stay the night. Instead, they worked their way across Pennsylvania and New Jersey, taking it in turns to sleep or drive.

Unfortunately, that meant they arrived at the approach to the George Washington Bridge smack dad in the morning rush hour, and traffic was bumper-to-bumper.

Deborah was about ready to jump out of her skin.

"There's gotta be a faster way to get into the city."

Helena didn't bother looking at the map since they'd had this conversation several times already. "The Lincoln Tunnel and the Holland Tunnel are farther away from the Bronx, and they're tunnels—they've probably got more traffic because they have to squeeze _**more**_ cars into fewer—"

"All _right_." Deborah pounded the steering wheel. Albert's friend lived in a neighbor called Riverdale, which was also in the Bronx, which meant it would be easier for Helena to investigate the Poe murders. "That other thing you were talking about," Deborah said. "You said they were all from Eddie Albert Poe, right?"

"Edgar Allan Poe, yeah."

"Right, whatever. He's the guy that did 'The Raven', right?"

Giving her sister a sidelong glance, Helena said, "You've read a poem?"

"They did it on _The Simpsons_ once. Hey, C'mon, _move_ it, will you!" Deborah suddenly screamed at the car in front of them. "Christ, you don't have to leave fifty car lengths between you and the guy in front of you!" Again she pounded the steering wheel. "I swear, these people got their drivers' licenses from freakin' Crackerjack boxes."

"Anyhow." Helena said, as much to take Deborah's mind off her frustration as anything, "the guy bricked up in the basement is from 'The Cask of Amontillado.' The orangutan is from 'The Murders on the Rue Morgue'—which, by the way, was the first detective story."

"Really?"

"Yeah, that story was an influence on Sir Arthur Conan Doyle when he created Sherlock Holmes."

"Well, thank you, Marian the Librarian."

Helena was glad to hear Deborah teasing her, as it meant she wasn't letting the driver get to her—

"Hey! Use the freaking turn signal, will you?"

—much. "I took an assignment from my CIA instructor as extra credit—it was called 'American Hauntings,' all about the use of supernatural in America fiction, including a lot about Poe." She shrugged. "I was curious, after all the weird stuff we've seen, what the pop culture interpretation of what we do was like."

"What, _X-Files_ reruns didn't do the trick?"

"Honestly, Deborah, you should read Poe's stories. 'The Fall of the House of Usher,' 'The Masque of the Red Death'—some of this stuff sounds like it could've been right out of one of our jobs. You gotta wonder what he saw to make him write that. I mean, he practically created the horror genre."

"So, Professor, Whaddaya think the deal is with this murders? Phases of the moon, recreating old short stories—sound like a ritual you know?"

"Not offhand, but there's something else. Before, when I had the maps out? I was checking something, and both these murders were exactly one mile from the Poe Cottage."

"First of all, what's the Poe Cottage?"

"Poe lived in the Bronx for a few years in a little cottage."

"Dude, I've seen _Fort Apache—_ the Bronx doesn't _**have**_ cottages. Hey, jackass, pick a freaking lane!"

Helena's suddenly felt the urge to get a firm grip on the dashboard with her hand. **I swear if Deborah crashes my car I'm gonna kill her!** "It did in the nineteenth century. The Bronx didn't even become part of New York City until the 1890s or so. Anyhow, because Poe live there, they preserved the cottage—and his wife died there."

Deborah nodded. "Okay, so the place has some emotional significance. Still not connecting the dots."

Shrugging, Helena said, "Me, either."

"Second of all, why didn't you tell me this when you were playing with the maps? I thought you were trying to find alternate routes."

Amazed Deborah even had to ask, Helena said, "You had _Led Zeppelin II_ in the tape deck. I know better than try to hold an intelligent conversation with you when 'Whole Lotta Love' is playing."

Deborah opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again. "Yeah, okay, fair enough."

They crawled ever more slowly toward the bridge, and Helena realized that they were approaching a toll booth. Deborah saw that some lanes were moving faster, and she inched into them.

"Uh, Deb, those are the E-Z Pass lanes."

"Aw, crap." The bane of the Harpers' existence had been the proliferation of things like E-Z Pass, Fast Lane, I-Pass, and assorted other services that involved sticking a piece of plastic on the windshield that a scanner would read, deducting the toll from a credit card or from payments made with a check. The former required a consistency of use with a card that Helena and Deborah couldn't afford since their credit cards were all phony. Helena had considered setting something up with the checking account she'd had when she was at the CIA academy, and through which she maintained her cell phone and internet, but now, with her and Deborah wanted but the law, it wasn't prudent for them to attach something to the car that could be used to trace their movements.

However, the cash lanes were considerably slower, which, Helena knew, would only increase Deborah's dark mood.

Sure enough, the realization that she'd be stuck in slow traffic while dozens of other cars zipped through the E-Z Pass lane I did of Helena's distraction work, and Deborah was now holding the steering wheel with an iron grip in her right hand while punching the inner driver's side door with her left and muttering curses to herself.

Recognizing a futile endeavor when she saw once, Helena pulled out her Treo and made use of its web browser. It was slow—basically as fast as dial-up—but she was eventually able to find and call up the website of Albert's friend's band, Wolf Pack.

By the time she was done reading up on it, they were next in the toll line. "Helena," Deborah asked suddenly, "you got any cash?"

Helena whirled around. "Excuse me? I thought you were the keeper of the lucre, Ms. Pool Hustling Poker Player Girl."

"Remember that guy in South Bend, the Notre Dame student who—"

Under no circumstances did Helena ever want to hear the end of any sentence of Deborah's that began with the words "Remember that guy."

"Fine, Whatever."

Helena tried to straighten her lanky form as best she could in the front seat and dug her left hand into her pants pocket. She pulled out a ball fluff, three quarters, several business cards that read **HELENA WINCHESTER, REPORTER** that she'd made up in a print shop back in Indiana, and her monogrammed money clip, which had four bills in it, one of which stood out as being ten dollar bill, since they were all a different color now. She gingerly yanked it out and handed it to Deborah.

Deborah paid the toll with ten, waited for the change, responded to the toll taker's request to have a nice day with an incoherent grunt, and then stuffed the four singles into her own shirt pocket.

Helena considered objecting, then decided that life was too damn short, instead saying "We wanna take the Henry Hudson Parkway, so stay in the right lane."

Deborah nodded as they started over the bridge. For a moment Helena just took the time to admire the view. The George Washington Bridge was one if the most famous bridges in the country, and while it didn't look quite as destinctive as, say, the Golden Gate—which she'd visited on a trip she and Alice had taken to San Francisco—or the Brooklyn Bridge right here in New York, it still had a certain grandeur that she admired.

As the Impala rolled over the bridge—still moving at less then twenty miles an hour, But that was an improvement on their pre-toll boooth pace—Helena turned to her right. It was a clear day out, so she could see the most famous Skyline in the world: Skyscrapers in gray, red, and silver, with the pinnacle of the Empire State Building rising above all of it. It was a complex MéLange of constructed life, a monument to human achievement over nature.

The scholar in her would desperately to explore the inner workings of that monument whether to play tourist and see the sights like she and Alice done in San Francisco, or to check out the underside of the place, see if the thousands of legends that had growing up around the city were true: the alligators in the sewer system, the phantom subway conductor, the missile silos in eastside apartment buildings.

She sat back in the passenger seat with a sense of melancholy. Their lives didn't allow for that sort of thing. They came in, they did the job, they left. Hell, now Deborah was on the feds' radar, and, while Helena couldn't find any specific warrant out for her own arrest (and didn't Deborah love giving her crap about that?), she was pretty sure she wouldn't be ignored if they got the attention of the law enforcement, either. They had to keep their heads down—which meant no self indulgence. Seeing the Statue of Liberty, going to the top of the Empire State Building, exploring Central Park, even going underground to check to see about the alligators and the ghosts and the missiles, none of that could to be on the agenda. Them doing the job saved lives, which meant time spent not doing the job meant people might die.

 _That's the job. And it needs doing._ One of the items on her eight-mile-long list of regrets was that it took mom dying for her to realize that.

The exit for the Henry Hudson was right after the bridge ended, and to Deborah's loudly expressed relief, most of the traffic that took the exit was going southbound, which would take them into Manhattan. Almost nobody else was going north.

However, Deborah's desire to speed was tempered by the parkway itself, which was hilly, twisty, an turny, and Helena found herself once again holding the dashboard in a death grip.

 **I swear if she crashes my car, I will murder her. Sisters be damn!** Helena thought in annoyance.

Feeling the need to distract herself from the fact Deborah was using the lane makers as a guideline more than a rule, Helena said, "So I checked out this chick's band on the web. I'm starting to see why Annette though of us—they're a cover band, and they do seventies rock."

For the first time since the cars started moving slowly on I-80, Deborah's face brightened. "Really?"

"Yeah, they named themselves after a band that lead singer that mysteriously died named it after scott Wolf."

"Sis," Deborah said in a familiar tone. It meant that Helena didn't know know some arcane and pointless piece of musical lore that Deborah thought was essential to being alive.

Helena steeled herself for the tirade even as Deborah said, "It's pronounced 'Wolfe'. They called him 'The Professor,' he was one of the greatest rock DJ and guitarist of the sixties and seventies. You know Van Morrison's 'Caravan'? The Wolf Pack he's talking about is Wolfe."

Helena just nodded, despite not knowing the singer or band in question, and not caring all that much. She'd gotten enough of a tongue—lashing on the subject of Robert Johnson's music during that Hellhound job.

"Well, Albert's friend," Helena said once she was sure Deborah was done chastising her, "Karen LesProux, also known as LUPO is the lead singer, and she plays guitar. There's six others, a keyboard player named Vector, another guitar player named Bertha, a bass player named Spectre, a drummer named Four Eyes, and their manager named Beltway. They play weekends at a place in Larchmont called the Park in Rear."

Deborah shot a sidelong glance at Helena. "Seriously?"

Helena shrugged. "That's what the website says."

The road finally straightened, just in time for a sign indicating another toll.

"Oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me! Bad enough we had to pay six bucks to get into this town now we gotta pay more?" Raising here eyebrow at the use of _We_ in that sentence, Helena pointedly said, "you've got four bucks in your pocket."

"Yeah, yeah." Deborah pulled in behind several other cars in the one and only lane labeled CASH ONLY, while other cars zipped through one of the six E-Z pass lane. Helena was starting to think it was a conspiracy.

Once they got through and went over another, smaller bridge that welcomed them to the Bronx, Helena said, "We wanna get off at 246th."

"Okay."

The road continued to curve menacingly past several exit, most for streets numbered in the 200s, before they reached the right exit.

Within seconds they were completely lost. They drove up and down several hills, and went on several roads that did not go straight, and were frustrated by jumps in the numerical sequence of streets. The area was also surprisingly suburban looking, with some really big houses that had yards—neither were images that Helena associated with being in New York City, especially after view of crammed-together skyscrapers she got from the GWB.

"I thought this city was on a grid," Deborah said through clenched teeth.

"That's Manhattan, Debs," Helena said patiently.

"Great."

The road angled down and to the right, nearing a T intersection. Helena caught sight of a green sign that identified the upcoming street sign as East 248th street. "There!" She said pointing, "that's 248th. Turn right."

"I swear to god, Sis, if it's not on this block, I'm turning around and going back to Indiana."

Helena refrained from pointing pit that regardless of whether they were going to Karen's house or back over the bridge, they were still lost. Besides, she got a look at one of the house numbers they passed. "We're on the right block. There, that's her place."

There weren't any parking spots on the street, but there was a driveway next to Karen's place, so Deborah parked the Impala there.

Once the car came to a stop, Helena hopped out, grateful for the chance to stretch her long legs for the first time since they'd gassed up in Scotrun, Pennsylvania. Her knees popped as they straightened.

"Nice," Deborah said, and Helena had to agree. The house was a three-story colonial, with a stone chimney on the side, a wooden front porch, complete with porch swing, and a dark wood front door with a small stained-glass window.

All Annette had provided Deborah was a name and address, a well as the name of the band the women was in, so they had no way of knowing of she'd be home. A ring of the doorbell followed by a full minute of waiting indicated that she wasn't.

"Fine, let's break in," Deborah said, reaching into her jacket pocket for her lock picks.

Helena put a hand on her arm before she could remove the paper clip in question. "Let's not. We're supposed to be helping this chick remember?"

"We'll tell her Albert sent us."

"And if she doesn't believe us and calls the cops? Deborah, we can't afford to commit felonies unless we absolutely have to, and we're not there yet. Hell, we just got here. Look, she probably has a day job. Let's check out the Poe thing and come back in the evening when she's more likely to be home."

Deborah stared at Helena for a second. The way Deborah's eyes were going back and forth, Helena could tell that her younger sister was trying to figure out a way to be right and for Helena to be wrong and was failing miserably.

Finally, Deborah turned around and went back to the car. "Fine, but we ain't going nowhere until you figure out how to get us out of this nuthouse." She opened the driver's side door. "Which crime scene you wanna hit first, the house with the bricked-up guy or the street where the monkey spanked back?"

Helena smiled. "Neither. The orangutan that killed those two kids was from the Bronx Zoo. We should start there say we're with, I dunno, _Wildlife Conservation Magazine_ or something."

"No, not that—National Geographic."

"Uh, Okay." Helena shrugged. "Not that it matters, but why not Wildlife Conservation?"

"Cause that's run by the WCS, who're the people who run the Bronx Zoo. It'd be like investigating something on the Skywalker Ranch and saying we we're with Star Wars Insider. They'd know we're bogus right off." With that, Deborah got into the car.

Helena opened her door and folded herself into the front seat. "Since when do you know so much about animal magazine."

"Alex was a subscriber."

That got a grin out of Helena. Alex was one of Deborah's ex-boyfriends. Given Alex's crusading character, based on the one and only time Helena met him in Missouri, she wasn't at all surprised that he supported the Wildlife Conservation society.

Helena pulled out the maps to figure out the best route to the Bronx Zoo. While she did so, Deborah asked, "Hey, does the Bronx Zoo have penguins? Like in Madagascar?"

Without even looking up, Helena said, "That was the Central Park Zoo. I mean, the Bronx Zoo probably has them too..."

"Yeah, but they're probably not as cook as the ones in Madagascar. I mean, I doubt they can take over a freighter or do hand-to-hand combat."

"Well, Debs, if they can, then we'll have three jobs..."

* * *

**Well Chap 2 is now completely finished. Now to type chap 3 and write chap 4...God so help me my hand is throbbing!**

**Helena: Sucks doesn't it**

**Me: Don't make me bring Ada in here**

**Helena:...**

**Me: Thought so~**

**Ada:*smirk***

**Helena: When did you get here**

**Ada: wouldn't you like to know Agent Harper**

**Me: Ada doesn't need to explain how she got here cause she always breaks the Law of Logic**


	3. New York City: The Bronx Zoo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helena and Deborah are hunters and since Deborah is wanted by the Feds, they will use fake names and IDs.
> 
> OCs are mine 
> 
> Disclaimer: Resident Evil characters belong to Capcom, cause if I did own them Leon would be dead and HarperWong would be canon. 
> 
> I also do not own the Supernatural characters 
> 
> Leon fans and lovers beware 
> 
> No Aeon or Heleon
> 
> Also Leon will make an appearance but he will die a slow death or gruesome death, which I fell like writing!

**_The Bronx Zoo_ **

**_The Bronx, New York_ **

**_Thursday 16 November 2005_ **

 

Tanya James brushed the bits of grass off the Wildlife Conservation Society logo on her blue shirt as she headed out into the pavilion in front of the Wild Asia Ride. The crowds were a bit sparse in November, but visitors to the Bronx Zoo still wanted to go on wild Asia.

 

Tanya remembered her mother talking about how thrilling Wild Asia was back when it first opened in the late seventies. For her part, she couldn’t imagine why anybody would make such a fuss, The monorail was so retro, and it wasn’t as if it was _that_ big a deal to see animals wandering around free. Of course, back in the Stone Age when mom was a kid, she guessed it was a big deal not to see animals in cages, but there wasn’t any novelty to it now. The monorail was cheesy piece if plastic that Tanya was convinced was gonna fall off the rail any day now.

 

Then again, she was in a bad mood generally. Ever since what happened with those two kids, she’d been talking to reporters, to police, and to lawyers representing Fordham University, and she was really, really sick of it. The lawyers were the worst—Okay, cops and reporters were doing their jobs, but why should she have to listen to crap from Fordham’s legal eagles just because the two kids who died happened to be their students? They weren’t even killed on campus!

 

“Excuse me, Miss James?”

 

Tanya closed her eyes and let out a breath. She’s had about fifty conversations that started with those four words this past week, and they were alway like having a root canal, only without the anesthetic. If it wasn’t someone from law enforcement or from the WCS, she was going to tell them to screw off so fast…

 

She turned, and saw the hottest women she’d ever seen in her life.

 

There was another women with her, but Tanya didn’t pay much at her, she was focused on this one chick. She had such amazing light green eyes, and if she was the one who’d called her, the the most sexiest voice she’d ever heard. Right there and then, she decided that she would do whatever this women asked. She’s tall, too, but not intimidating the way some tall girls were. Her semi-shaggy light brown hair was somber neatly, and she had an adorable small nose.

 

“Uh, yeah, I’m—I’m Ms James. Uh, Tanya.”

 

The other, shorter one, said, “Nice to meet you, Tanya. My name’s Andrea Watson, and my sister here is Regina Watson—we’re with National Geographic.”

 

Tanya blinked, and tore her eyes away from Regina Watson—what a wonderful name!—to look at the shorter one with the same light brown hair, light green eyes, a mouth that looked like it was in a permanent smirk but what made Tanya nervous was the glare she was giving her.

 

 _Andrea, was it?_ “Uh, okay.”

 

Then the text message she’d gotten from Frieda, her boss, came back to her. “Right! Frieda said you guys be talking to me. What do you need?”

 

“We’re doing a story on the orangutan that killed those two students, and we were told you were the one who cared for them.”

 

Regina added, “If it’s too much trouble—”

 

“Oh no!” She said quickly, not wanting Regina to go away, but also still not entirely clear as to why NG would be doing this kind of story. Frieda’s text had said that they were cleared by the press office, as long as they stuck with the questions in the memo that had gone around on Monday, but Tanya was confused as to why they’d bothered in the first place.

 

“This isn’t really, I dunno—typical of you guys, is it?”

 

Andrea smiled, “Eh, We just follow orders from the boss.”

 

Rolling her eyes, Tanya ignored Andrea cause she was still glaring at her, and looked at Regina’s form and soulful eyes. “So what is it you girls want to know? I mean, I’ve already told this story, like, a _thousand_ times. You can probably get whatever you want from the newspaper.”

 

“They’re being very sensationalistic,” Regina said. “We’re trying to print out the truth, and make it clear that this wasn’t the orangutan’s fault.”

 

“Oh, it wasn’t Albert’s fault at all!”

 

The short one suddenly developed a coughing fit, and then said, “Albert? That was the orangutan’s name?”

 

“Well, that’s what I called him. We’ve got two on loan from Philadelphia for a while, and I named them Frank and Albert.”

 

Looking at Andrea, Regina said, “Actually, I think Albert’s a great name for a big ape, don’t you?”

 

“Sure it is,” Andrea said in a low voice, and Tanya started wondering what was going on. But then Andrea looked back at her. “So, Tanya, can you tell us in your own words what happened?”

 

“Yeah, okay.” She was feeling a little exposed, so she led the two reporters to one of the wooden tables near a food stand. Taking a deep breath, and trying not to get lost in Andrea’s eyes, she went through the whole story: How Albert suddenly went crazy and started jumping up and down, before retreating under a rock.

 

“Nobody saw him for a while after that—we don’t really keep an eye on them 24/7, y’know?—and then when I went to feed him and Frank, I couldn’t find him. Now you gotta understand, both these guys never miss a feeding—like, ever.” She found her eyes misting up, and she wiped them with the cuff it the sleeve of her blue shirt.

 

Andrea said, “you must care about Frank and Albert very much. That’s really admirable—our parents have always been impressed with the work people like do.”

 

“Thanks,” she said, then looked at Regina. “So I knew something was wrong, and we instituted a search. Animals wander off sometimes, and Albert had been acting a little weird, but we usually have _really_ good security. But we didn’t find anything.” Good security was an understatement. Allen and Jimmy had lost their jobs thanks to Albert’s escape.

 

Regina leaned forward while Andrea suddenly got up. “The paper said that NYPD animal control took Albert in.”

 

Tanya nodded. “ They called us first, since we’re the only people in the city who _have_ Orangutans. Our animals have transponders so we can verify who they are, so they sent me to Animal Control.” She shuddered at the memory.

 

“ **_God_** , what an awful place. All these animals stuck in tiny metal cage and treated like crap. I mean, I know, most of ’em are involved in crimes and stuff but _God_.”

 

A napkin appeared in front of her face. She looked up to see Andrea, with a look of what she guessed was concern on her face. “Thanks,” she said as she took the napkin and wiped the tears away. She even almost smiled, this girl gave her the chills especially her glare.

 

She sat back down next to Regina, across from her. “So you checked the transponder.”

 

“Well, yeah, but didn’t really need to, y’know? I know my Albert.” She wiped new tears with the napkin. “The poor little guy was scared to death. They did blood tests on him, and he was hopped up on amphetamines of some kind, can you believe that?”

 

“Jesus Christ, who would do that to the poor guy?” Andrea asked.

 

“Well, somebody who wanted to kill those two kids.”

 

“So it wasn’t Albert’s fault.” Regina said, sounding relieved.

 

Tanya shook her head. “And we were so afraid that we’d lose him. Sometimes the families of victims insist that the animals be euthanized, and judge usually come down on other side.”

 

“Really?” Regina said. “That’s awful.”

 

At this point, she couldn’t work up much outrage. “It’s typical. They’re part of this word, too, but try to get most humans to acknowledge that. In fact, I’m going to law school part-time so I can make the laws about this kinda thing tougher.”

 

“Good for you,” Regina said. “I actually almost graduated the CIA University.”

 

“Really? Why’d you give up?”

 

Regina hesitated. “Weird family stuff,” she said quietly. “Anyhow, I’m real happy with I’m doing right now, believe me.”

 

“Well, good for you. Still, you should think about going back. Where did you go”

 

“Stanford—that’s where I did my undergrad work.”

 

Tanya whistled appreciatively. “I’m a NYU. I wish I had more time for class, but it’s expensive, and I work a lot of hour here.”

 

Andrea then said, “NYU is a tough place, our parents went there but they were determined like you.”

 

“Cool,” Tanya said quickly to Andrea, then looked back at Regina. _All that, and brains, too, if she made it through Stanford and the CIA._

 

But then Andrea said, “you said families of the victims usually ask for the animals to be euthanized.”

 

Andrea pronounced the word as if it was the first time she used it, which struck Tanya as odd. “ But they didn’t ask for that this time?”

 

She’d been hoping to quiz Regina more on her academy aspirations, but Andrea seemed determined to actually do their job, Which Tanya supposed she could understand.

 

“No, Albert lucked out.” Was it her imagination or did Andrea mouth twitch upward  every time she referred to the orangutan by name?

 

“Both the kids were members of WCS, and their families were sympathetic. Once the blood test proved than that Albert was drugged, they didn’t insist, the cops were in a good mood that day, so they let us have him back.”

 

She shook her head. “I remember one time—in Minnesota, maybe?—a meerkat bit a kid who was too stupid to actually pay attention to the sign that said not to stick your hand over the fence. The family refused to give the kid a rabies test, so the zoo had to euthanize the entire family of meerkats.”

 

“Sounds to me,” Andrea said, “Like the wrong family got put down.”

 

Tanya nodded, conceding the point to Andrea, then turning back to lose herself in Regina’s eyes. “So Albert’s back with us, but we won’t put him back out in the habitat yet.”

 

“Why?”

 

“You kidding? He’s, like, _totally_ traumatized. I just came back from feeding him, and he wouldn’t eat until I left. He won’t go near Frank, and he won’t let me hold him.”

 

Andrea raised an eyebrow. “He wouldn’t let you hold him?”

 

Tanya nodded, “of course. But now when I try, he—he hisses.”

 

Regina bit part of her lower lip for a second,  which Tanya thought was just adorable. “Tanya, can I ask a favor?”

 

“Of course,” she said without hesitation. Then added with what she hoped was a coquettish smile, “you can ask.”

 

“Can we—can we see Albert?”

 

That wasn’t what she’d been hopping for, especially since it meant she would have to disappoint her. “I’m sorry, but I so totally can’t. Right now, they’re just letting me in there.”

 

Andrea leaned forward. “Well, if you say it’s okay—”

 

“It’s not up to me. They only let me in because I’m their handler. We may wind up sending them both back to Philadelphia because of this. I’m sorry, but I’ll get in a huge amount of trouble, and—and then they won’t even let me see them anymore.”

 

Regina was cute, but she wasn’t that cute. Frank and Albert were her boys, and she wasn’t letting anything jeopardize her relationship with them.

 

Not even Regina.

 

They asked a few more random questions and then they got up, which surprised and disappointed her. “Well,” Regina said, “thanks for your help. If you think of anything else to share with us, give me a call, okay?” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a ratty piece of paper.

 

“I’m sorry, we’re outta business cards. We ordered them, like, three weeks ago, and still nothing.”

 

All of a sudden alarm bells were going off in Tanya’s head. Why weren’t they asking more questions? And they hadn’t been taking notes or anything.

 

Still, she took her phone number. She wasn’t a complete fool. Maybe she could talk to her without her sister and her glaring.

 

“Thanks.” She broke the handshake before Andrea did, then watch them both walk toward the staircase that would take them up to other parts of the zoo, or to one of two exits.

 

And that was it.

 

Frowning, Tanya stared at the number, which had a 650 area code. She was pretty sure that NG was located in Washington, D.C., and their area code was 202. She was also pretty sure that 650 was in California somewhere. Of course, that could’ve been Stanford’s area code, in which case Regina would’ve had it from when she went there, but why wouldn’t she have changed it to D.C.when she moved there after graduating Stanford and left for the CIA University?

 

And why didn’t they ask more questions about Albert or the drugs that were used to any of the other questions on Frieda’s list?

 

She shook her head, got up, and walked over to the small wooden ticket booth near the entrance to Wild Asia.

 

“Hey Tanya,” the woman in the booth said, her voice echoing in the small booth and coming through the glass partition. “What’s up? Who where those girls you were talking to? The tall on was hot.”

 

“Gina, can you call Bill for me? I need to talk to him.:

 

Bill was the head of security—and the one who fired Jimmy and Allen. Much as she hated to admit, she was pretty sure he needed to know about Andrea and Regina Watson...


	4. Ada Wong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It looks the Harper sisters aren’t the only ones on a hunting job. It looks like a professional agent is on the prowl. 
> 
> But who is she really after? An artifact? Is she after Deborah Harper, a convicted murder and the vessel of Michael? Or is it Helena Harper, the vessel of Lucifer?
> 
> All I can say is that, Ada Wong is a force to be recon with.
> 
> Let’s hope for the Harper sisters are ready, lets hope Helena is ready to face this new foe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Resident Evil or Supernatural! If I did own RE, Leon would be dead. Helena and Ada would be a couple along with Claire and Jill.
> 
> Note the restaurant I used, I looked it up on google so I don't know if its right but screw it!
> 
> Btw Ada Wong will not be human, so I want you guys to guess what kind of species she is!
> 
> Also this took me eight days just to make this right!
> 
> Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Vote on what species Ada Wong is:  
> Demon  
> Angel  
> Witch

**Gramercy Tavern, New York**

**Thursday 16 November 2005**

In this restaurant sat two people, a white caucasian male in a fancy black suit and a beautiful women dressed in a breathtaking scarlet dress. Everyone who saw or passed by them would think that they were just a couple having dinner. The truth is these two are have an official meeting well for the man is a meeting, for the mystery woman it was job. The man was fidgeting with his tie while his female companion looked on in amusement. Her amber eyes gleam with mirth, he knew she was enjoying his nervousness since she is the cause of it. Losening his tie a bit while clearing his throat. His nerves are all over the place, John just wants to finish this.

 _ **Jesus, when Albert said that her presences seems to suffocate you, he wasn't joking,** _John thought.

"A job, huh?" purred the mysterious beauty, her tone is calm and seductive with a hint of amusement in it.

"Yes," John answered, his tone was clipped a professional.  

He glanced around making sure no one was eavesdropping, you never know who could be watching. Reaching into his bag, John took out a photo of a vagrant looking man along with a folder. Making sure his black messanger bag was with in his sight before he gave his companion the folder. He made sure and double check to make sure everything was in order.

"I want you to meet this man, Luis Sera," Johh handed her the photo along with the folder.

"Luis has succeeded in recovering the curse artifact. He's waiting somewhere in The Bronx," John saw a glint shine in his companion's amber eyes, he swallowed the huge lump in his throat. 

He was seriously starting to understand why Annette told him to be careful. _**Don't let your guard down around her because she will strike,** _that is what Annette said.

"Sadly, Luis has yet to give his location, considering that Osmund Saddler and his cult is on his trail."

John and his employers, know who Saddler is, a cult leader who is hell bent on opening the Gates of Hell.

As she looked at the files in the folder John has the time to asset his companion. He could tell she's Asian-American with Chinese descent, he saw her for the first time to him and to everyone she is a exotic beauty. She has short black hair with a blue lotus flower pin, amber eyes that almost look golden but what made her features stand out, was her dress on the other hand made her look as if she walked out a fashion magazine. Her Chinese style dress is the color red like the freshly bloomed roses garden but what made this dress stand out was the golden linings and fluttering of golden butterflies designs.

John swallowed the lump in his throat making it difficult, this woman is stunningly beautiful but even his instincts are telling his this woman is dangerous—she’s  **deadly**.

"Hmmm~" The beautiful woman hummed, her tone becoming playful.

John once again saw a strange glint in her amber eyes and he thinks his mind is playing tricks on him, because in a split second he saw her pupils become cat-like but when he blinked they were back to normal.

_**God, I'm so nervous that my mind is playing tricks on me!** _

The beauty opened the folder and took out two photos from it, "John,” she said in a cold tone, John jolt up straight in his sit, his companion red lips curved into a predatory smile. He glanced to his right then to his left—clearing his throat, "Yes?"

"Who are these two young women?" She looked up from analyzing the two photos, her red painted lips still having that predatory smile.

He glanced down, Jon recognized the photos, they were given to him from Albert and Annette. It was a police mugshot, of a woman who looked to be in her early twenties. She has long light brown hair, fair skin and green eyes. This women’s name is Deborah Harper, who was charged for multiple murders in St. Louis, Albert made sure her mugshot ID and her data were tampered with. John at first didn't understand why Albert would waste such resources on this girl, knowing quiet well he could have been caught. At that time it was beyond him on what kind of relationships those two had. After a lot and I mean a lot if explanations, he understood why now, he promised to keep it a secret.

_**Not matter how cold you act Albert but you deeply care about this girl.**  
_

His eyes glanced to the second photo, this women was exactly like its sister but she was is in her mid-twenties with messy long light brown hair, fair skin and green eyes. Unlike her sister photo this picture was not a mugshot but a ID photo from the CIA university database. Helena Harper, the CIA's prodigy child, during his time there he heard praises about her. Even now he wonder what happened to her, the star prodigy just disappeared. He couldn't blame her, while she was away with her sister trying to find their mother. After finding leads to their mother, Helena came home and her girlfriend Alice Abernathy was found murdered and house burned down.

John let out a breath never knew he was holding, and hesitated to answer, "These two are well known hunters, Helena and Deborah Harper. The Harper sisters."

He looked up, his brown eyes meeting her piercing amber eyes, "Luis meet them in South Carolina, when he was recovering the artifact. These two helped him escape Saddler and his cult."

"Hmmm~" The asian woman once again hummed.

Her predatory smile left and in its place was a seductive smirk, her amber eyes instantly focused on Helena's picture, with a strange gleam in them. A shiver went down John's spine there it was. The one thing that Annette warned him about, was that Ada Wong was a woman of many things, but what made her dangerous was that she’s a predator. When Ada saw something or someone with interest—she will always hunt and catch her prey.

**Ada Wong has found her prey, that prey is Helena Harper.**

Ada is on the prowl and Helena Harper is now her prey, clearing his throat, "Miss Wong?"

Ada's voice is fulled with amusement, "John, there are some things in the world better off not knowing. This is one of them."

She gripped Helena's photo, her red painted fingernails caressing the photographed face. The crinkling sound of the photo, John swallowed, closing his eyes and let out a heavy sigh.

**_Fuck! Albert and Annette is not going to like this._ **

Unbeknownst to John, his eyes castdown to his lap. Ada's amber eyes are now glowing gold and her pupils turned cat-like. A sultry chuckle escaped her, looking up a her male companion to see his eyes castdown. Her red painted lips curved into a pedatory “cat-like” smirk, eyes narrowing slightly.

"All right, Miss Harper. Let's see what you're hiding~," Ada purred seductively.

**LET. THE. HUNT. BEING.**

* * *

**Me: Fucking finally! I did it!**

**Ada:*smile***

**Me: Ada was no help at all**

**Helena:...*winces***

**Me: She was a bit busy*whisper* Screwing Helena's brains out**

**Helena: Hey!**

**Ada:*smirk***

**Me: Anyways! I hope you enjoyed this chapter and I'm sorry if its short! It was difficult and Ada wasn't helping either with her smartass comments**

**Ada:*smirk***

**Me: If you're trying to seduce me with that smirk of yours its not working. That only works on Helena not me**

**Helena: It does not!**

**Me:*smirk* Oh Agent Puppy don't lie to yourself**

**Helena:*growl* STOP CALLING ME THAT!**

**Me:*** **laughing maniacally*** **YOU CAN'T MAKE ME! *runs out of the room***

**Helena:*chases after her***

**Ada: leave a comment or question you want HarperWongShipper to answer~ Now I must go stop my Agent Puppy from committing murder~**


	5. Karena LesProux

**On the road**

**The Bronx, New York**

**Thursday 16 November 2005**

 

“Nice work, giving her your phone number.”

 

Sitting in the passenger seat, Deborah had been hoping to get more than a sigh from her sister. But then, Helena was driving, since Deborah had decided that she didn’t want to get behind the wheel again until they were somewhere sane. 

 

_ Then again, Sis fears that I might T-bone someone with my rage. Her love for this car is scary.  _ Deborah though

 

Helena was rationalizing like crazy. “I just wanted her to be able to get in touch with us, in case—”

 

“In case she wanted to stare at you some more? C’mon, Sis, she was totally  into you. I mean, I was there the whole time, and she barely even looked at me.” She leaned back, clasping her hands behind her head. 

 

“She was turned into Helena-TV.”

 

“Deborah, you were glaring at her. Of course she would try to ignore you.” Helena said, “also she was trying to hard for my taste, like you do.”

 

“Hey! That was not trying hard. She was trying normal.”

 

“Maybe she would’ve had better luck of we gave our ‘boss’s name.” Helena grinned.

 

“I mean, she obviously likes to hold guys names Albert. Or maybe Albert is not hirsute enough.”

 

Deborah had been hoping Helena wouldn’t bring that up. Not that there was a chance in hell that Helena wouldn’t, but she liked to dream, sometimes.

 

Look, it’s just—” Then Deborah cut herself off. 

 

An orangutan had the same name as Albert. There was just no comeback for that, she was good enough poker player to know when it was better to lay down than to keep playing.

 

_ Damn. She knows my crush on Albert and she taking the pleasure teasing me for it! _

 

“So what’s the next step?”

 

“You’re just embarrassed cause you don’t know what hirsute means.”

 

“I’m not an idiot, Helena. It means hairy. Now will you focus for a second? What’s our next step?”

 

“You’re the one carrying on about how she was ‘into me,’ and I need to focus?” Helena kept going before Deborah could answer that.

 

“It’s almost six, I think we should had back to Karena’s, see if she’s home.”

 

“Fine by me.”

 

It had taken the better part of a day just to get someone at the zoo to talk straight to them. It had taken all of hers considerable charm and Helena’s sincere facial expression to convince the zoo brass that they just wanted to ask some question for a magazine. 

 

“All we got for a day’s work is that someone drugged the monkey, brought him out to kill the two students, and then left it for Animal Control—Which we pretty much already know.”

 

“You think it was someone from the Zoo?” Helena asked. 

 

Deborah shrugged. “Maybe. That’d explain how they got past security, but—well, c’mon, you saw these people. Tanya, that Frieda lady, they were nuts about the critters. They’d have to be to work there. I can’t see one of them abusing an animal like that, just for some kind of literary re-creation.”

 

“If that’s what this is.” Helena sighed as she got off the crowded highway and into a tangle of traffic at the end of the exit ramp. Making Deborah wonder if there was an open road to be found anywhere in this stupid city.

 

“I wish I could figure out what they’re trying to do here.”

 

“No bells going off, huh?” 

 

Helena shook her head. “Not so far. I’ll dig into Mom’s journal tonight, see what’s up. It’s still another four days until the twentieth—that’s the new moon, so that’s probably when the next one’s gonna be. So we’ve got time to figure it out.”

 

Eventually, they worked their way back to Karena’s place. Deborah, who prided herself on an excellent sense of direction and on being able to find anything as long as it was on a road, had no idea how they got there. This whole area of the Bronx was hilly, twisty and turning and it gave her a headache. 

 

_ Give me flat, straight roads anyway, San Francisco wasn’t as bad as this. _

 

This time when they pulled up to Karena’s Colonial, there was a dirt-splattered four-by-four in the driveway with a bump stricken that said,  **DON’T LIKE MY DRIVING? CALL 1-800-U-BITE-ME** . However, there was a spot on the street next to the driveway, so Helena pulled into it.

 

The front of the Impala was blocking the driveway a little, but Deborah figured they were going to be in the house of the chick they were blocking, so no big deal, and it beat trying to find somewhere to parallel park. 

 

“Damn! Albert wasn’t kidding, that is one fine ride you got there!”

 

Helena looked up as she got out of the car to see a women standing on the porch. She had long brown hair that seem to have blondish tips, fair skin and a gas mask around her neck. She wore a Grateful Dead Concert T-shirt and jeans that were stained with paint and oil. She also wore military boots. 

 

“You gotta be Karena ‘LUPO’ LesProux,” Deborah said. “I’m Deborah Harper, this is my older sister Helena.” 

 

“Yeah, Albert said you’d be coming by. How is that old bastard anyhow? Please, God, tell me he finally got that stick out of his ass.”

 

Smirking, Helena said, “Nope, He still has that stick up his ass.” 

 

She glanced at Deborah with a mischievous gleam in her eyes, Deborah scowled.

 

“Oh, Albert.” Karena shook her head. “I mean, that man needs to get laid, hell, he really needs it. You get what I am saying?”

 

“Absolutely,” Helena said, her green eyes gleam with amusement. 

 

In her mind, Deborah was damning her sister to Hell.  _ God damn you Helena! God damn you to hell!  _

 

Helena heard her sister quietly growled ‘Shut up.’ She and Deborah walked toward the front porch. Helena smirked knowing she got under her baby sisters skin, she knows she shouldn’t tease Deborah but watching her face turn red in embarrassment. She and Deborah walked toward the front porch 

 

Deborah said, “We heard you have a spirit problem.”

 

“Yeah, it’s kinda harshing my sleep time, you know? But we’ll get it that in a minute. I was just putting finishing to my friends car.” She grinned 

 

“Hope you don’t mind waiting?” 

 

Helena glanced to the car, her green eyes sparkled in excitement and Deborah mentally facepalmed. She knows that look, that god forsaken look her Sis gets when she sees a vintage or classic car. 

 

“No way, is this car a 1969 Boss 429 Mustang?” Helena looked at Deborah and grinned.  _ I think I like this chick! _

 

Karena blinked in surprised and grinned, “Oh, it looks like I met another car lover! But yes it is—I should call Albert to thank him for sending a car lover for me.” 

 

Deborah rolled her eyes, knowing this is giving her a headache.  _ Out of all the things my older sister has to be a car and motorcycle lover! _

 

That feeling was cemented when they came into the house and Deborah heard the strains of Jethro Tull’s “For a Thousand Mothers.” Deborah found herself involuntarily air-drumming to Clive Bunker’s riff. 

 

“Good music choice.”

 

“Yeah, I’ve been on a Tull Kick lately. I want to cover them but nobody can play the flute, and it ain’t Tull without the flute, y’know?”

“Got that right,” Deborah said as she looked around the house. 

 

The front door opened to a foyer that was covered with framed concert poster that dated back to long before she and Helena were born: The Beatles at Shea Stadium, The Rolling Stones at Fillmore East, the Isle of Wight Show in 1970.

 

Turning left, she saw the massive living room, which was covered in dusty old furniture—a couch, an easy chair, and a rocking chair, as well as a big china closet and a sideboard that was covered with empty pistol mags, bullets, shotgun bullets—piles of gunpowder, magazines that had musical instruments on the covers, three guitars on stands in one corner, several amplifiers, an entire wall filled with vinyl records, another wall filled with tapes and CDs, and an entertainment center that included a battered old television and a shiny metal stereo system that included turntable, tape deck, and six-CD changer. 

 

At first, she couldn’t see the speakers, then realized there were four of them spread around the room for maximum killer sound value. 

 

It took Deborah a second to realized that Karena and Helena weren’t around. Turning, she saw they were heading toward the kitchen, which she though the hallway next to the staircase, straight back from the foyer. 

 

“You’ll have to excuse my sister.” Helena said, “She’s in the midst of having an orgasm.”

 

Karena’s lips curved into a smirk. “Sorry about the mess, but the house keeper isn’t coming. C’mon.”

 

They went back into the kitchen, which was also a mess, with dirty pots and pans in the sink. Karena sighed and shoved some of them aside so she could fill the coffee pot with water. 

 

“That’s a nice set of wheels you got there, girl,” Karena grinned again. “Hmmm, if I’m right, that lovely car is a 1967 Chevrolet Impala, right?”

 

“Yup,” Helena said with pride. “Had to rebuild it from scratch a while back, too.” 

 

“Whoa.” Karena poured the water into the coffee maker and then opened the freezer and took out a jar filled with coffee grounds. 

 

“Special Blend,” she said at Helena and Deborah’s quizzical looks.

 

“Where’d you find a 502-cubic-inch big-block V8 engine?” 

 

“Got a friend with contacts. Runs a junkyard, he tracked it down for me,” Helena grinned.

 

Besides giving them a place to stay after their mom died, Albert Wesker also had been vital in providing Helena with the parts to rebuild the Impala after the truck totaled it.

 

“Nice. Or, maybe, Awesome?”

 

“Yeah, awesome works,” Helena said with a grin. 

 

“Used to have one of them back back when it was a new car. Wouldn’t do me much now—the trunk’s big, but it didn’t fit the rig, you know? That’s why I got the soccer mom mobile. Anyhow, that old contraption died on my way down to Florida back in seventy-eight.” 

 

Karena chuckled. “Funny, I was driving down there with Andrew to get married, and the damn car died. Should’ve seen that for the omen that it was. We split back in eighty-six.”

 

“So Karena,” Deborah said, “you have a ghost?”

 

“Yeah, it's pretty bad.” 

 

After scooping the grounds into the receptacle, Karena put the jar back in the freezer and retrieved a carton of milk from the refrigerator, placing it on the kitchen counter next to the coffee maker and a chipped sugar bowl.

 

“I don’t know how much Albert told you, but I’m with a band called Wolf Pack. We played up in Larchmont every weekend—Friday, Saturday, and Sunday nights, we do three sets. It’s our thing.” Karena sighed.

 

“Everytime I get home from a gig, there’s some crazy broad making awful noises and screeching and going crazy, and I just want it the fuck out of my house.” 

 

“It’s only on those nights?” Helena asked.

 

“Yup.” The coffeemaker started making gurgling noises as the now boiling water mixed with grounds and were poured into the waiting pot.

 

“Oh wait, not every time. There was this one Friday when someone rented out the Park In Rear for a private party, so we didn’t play that night.”

 

“And no ghost?” Helena asked.

 

Karena shook her head, of course Deborah had to ask, “Is it really called the Park in Rear?”

 

Another smirk formed in her lips. “Yeah, but don’t try that in the phone book. Nah, it’s called, ‘Nat’s Place,’ but nobody calls it that.” Karena chuckled.

 

Deborah lips formed a smirk while Helena rolled her eyes but there was a hint of a smile on her lips. 

 

“See, there’s this big sign that says ‘Park in Rear’ real big on top, cause it ain’t illegal to Park on the street there, and the parking lot entrance isn’t easy to see from the road. So we all call it that.”

 

She pulled three mugs down from one of the cabinets and poured the coffee. Helena got the one that had the dictionary definition of the word coffee written on it, while Deborah’s THERE’S TOO MUCH BLOOD IN MY CAFFEINE SYSTEM. Karena kept the one with the Metallica logo for herself, which disappointed Deborah somewhat. 

 

Deborah left her coffee alone, having always preferred it to be as Helena’s car. Helena, of course, dumped half a ton of sugar and then filled it almost to the brim with milk. For her part, Karena just poured a bit of milk into her. 

 

Helena picked up her coffee mug but didn’t drink it. Deborah, being no kind of fool, waited until after her sister took a sip before trying it herself. 

 

“So,” Deborah said, “this spirit is tied to the band, you think?”

 

“Hell if I know, Deborah, that’s why I called Albert. I knew he was into that spooky shit. Me, I’m just a retired veteran and an engineer for the city who plays Rock and Roll. I don’t know nothing about crap that goes bump in the night.” 

 

She gulped down about half to her coffee, which made Deborah think her throat was lined with ice or something, since it was still boiling, even with the milk cutting it a bit.

 

“Got to tell you, it’s seriously interfering with my life. I mean, there are times when I bring my kids home after a gig, wanting to spend sometime, know what I mean? It miss spending time with them, having some chick screeching in the house.” Karena sighed.

 

“Have you seen it?” Helena asked. Then she took a sip, and cut off Karena before she could answer. 

 

“Wow! This is great coffee, Mrs. LesProux.”

 

“Please, it’s Karena. Mrs. LesProux is what my kids teachers used to call me those times I went to a parent-teacher conference back in the day.” 

 

“You were married?” Deborah asked, immediately sorry that she asked.

 

“Yes, but he became abusive. You see I was fine that he was physically and verbally abusing me—but raise your hand against my babies. Then that’s another story.” 

 

“Sorry to hear that,” Helena said in a quiet voice.

 

Karena shrugged, “No, it's what I get for marrying him, all I can do is be there for my kids. Being a single mother raising kids was hard but I pulled through for them.”

 

Deborah might have said something in response to that, but she was too busy savoring the taste if the finest cup of coffee she’d ever had in her life. She also knew not to say anything as like Karena, she was also in a abusive relationship and believing it was love chose him over her family. So while Karena chose her kids and herself, Deborah chose the asshole that almost killed her and shattering her bond with Helena. 

 

_ Our bond is still mending but Helena is still hesitante. I wouldn’t blame her.  _ Thought Deborah.

 

So Deborah would drink this flavorful wonderfulness even if she didn’t need a caffeine jolt after a day dealing with New York traffics Bronx Zoo bureaucracy and women flirting with Helena.

 

“So you’ve never seen the spirit?” Deborah asked.

 

Shaking her head, Karena said, “No, but I haven’t looked, either, y’know? I mean, I hear that yelling and I’m out along with my kids. I don’t even come home no more, just wait until, sunup. That’s bitch on Mondays, though—I got to get to work.” 

 

“You said you work as an engineer for the city?” Helena asked.

 

Karena nodded.

 

“If you don’t mind me asking, then how can you afford this place?”

 

Helena blinked at Deborah’s question, but not that she thought about it, it was a legit question. If Karena was divorced, she probably have child support, and she couldn’t believe that a city engineer got paid enough to buy this place, especially given how much property cost in New York. True, she has the music, but if that was anything great, she wouldn’t need the day job. 

 

Another smirk. “It’s handy when your ex-husband is the son of two really rich lawyers. Who are disappointed and hate their son more than I do. So we made a deal, they pay for the house as long they can see their grandkids.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Helena said, again in a quiet voice. 

 

“Nah, no biggie. They adore their grandkids and they respect me since I was a comrade in arms to their older son who died in action. Also for dealing with their disgraceful of a second son who could never match to his hero older brother.” Karena smiled, her blue eyes darkening.

 

“Listen, I’m really grateful to you two for helping me out.”

 

Deborah sipped some more coffee, “We haven’t done anything yet, Karena. We’ll check it out, though see what turn up.”

 

“Great. And hey, listen, you girls got a place to stay in town? Cause if you don’t, I got a couple guest room upstairs.”

 

That almost made Deborah sputtered coffee. She managed to hold it in, which was good, as that would’ve been a waste of a fine beverage. 

 

“Seriously?”

 

“That’s very kind of you, Karena, but—”

 

“We’d be happy to,” Deborah said quickly.

 

Before Helena’s politeness got them shoved into yet another motel room. She wasn’t sure what excited her more, the prospect of sleeping in the same house as that record collection, being able to wake up to this coffee, or not having to share a room with Helena. She loved her big sis more than anything in the world—except maybe her love for the Impala—by they’d been sleeping in the same room (or, all too often, the same front seat of the car) with each other virtually every night for over a year now. If the opportunity to get separate rooms—for free, no less—presented itself, she was for damn sure taking it.

 

“Great! Oh before I forget, I got practice tonight—we visually rehearse in Hector’s garage. He’s our manager. We used to rehearse here—I got a tons of space in the attic but the neighbors started bitching. Didn’t want them calling the cops on us, what with the booze and guns, so we moved to Hector’s.”

 

Helena shot Deborah a heated glare at the mention of the police, and Deborah just rolled her eyes.  _ Jesus, of course she’s going to hold this against me.  _

 

“And tomorrow night, you girls can come up to the Park in Rear and hear us. I’ll get you two in as my guests, so you aren’t going to pay the cover. Still got to buy the beer, though, but they got some good stuff on tap up there.” Karena gulped down the rest of her coffee in one shot, then put the mug in the sink. 

 

“You girls make yourselves at home. Rooms are upstairs. The one all the way on the far end from the staircase, that’s mine. The other three all got beds, so pick whatever you want.”

 

“Thanks.” Deborah looked at Helena, “C’mon, let’s unpack.”

 

She took a final sip of her coffee, then headed back through the hallway to the front door. Helena followed her, waiting until they reached the front porch to speak.

 

“Deborah, you sure this is a good idea?”

 

“What’s the problem, Sis?”

 

“This chick got a spirit. Maybe this isn’t the best place to stay the night.” 

 

Helena stuck the key in the Impala trunk. 

 

“Helena, we’re the people who kill the spirits. Besides, it’s Thursday. Spirit won’t show till tomorrow night, so that gives us time to give the place an EMF once-over and research the house. Maybe we’ll even figure out the Poe thing.”

 

“The thing is, Debs—” Helena hesitated.

 

After hoisting her and Helena’s backpack out of the back of the trunk, Deborah said, “what is it?”

 

“I’m a little freaked out.”

 

“C’mon Karena’s an okay chick.” 

 

“It’s not Karena, Deborah, its you. It’s like we’re in Deborah Disneyland in there with the Fillmore East posters and the amps an the record collection. I’m worried we’re never going to get you out of there.”

 

Assuming Helena was just giving her crap, Deborah grinned. “Sis, I can focus.” 

 

“Hope so. ‘Cause we got a spirit we know it's going to show Friday night, and a murder that we know it’s going to happen Monday night, and we’re staying with a chick whose house is full of illegal weapons when we’re both wanted by the feds.”

 

Deborah slammed the trunk shut. “Anybody ever tell you, you worry too much, Helena?”

 

Without missing a beat, Helena smirked and said, “you, about four times a day.”

 

“Then consider this time number five. We’ll be fine. C’mon, lets get settled.”

  
  
  



End file.
